


This Is Gospel

by SmokeInducedFog



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, M/M, Poetry, a thing i did, a try at poetry, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmokeInducedFog/pseuds/SmokeInducedFog
Summary: In which Keith reflects on the 6 steps that panned out in his relationship with Lance.





	This Is Gospel

Strangers

 

_Uh the name’s Lance?_

The nasal baritone

had failed to register,

along with the pair of

baby-blues - a stark

contrast against the

smooth mocha skin.

Initially, that was.

 

Acquaintances

 

_You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck?_

Disbelief. Exasperation. Frustration.

Yet, looking past the emotions lacing the

undertones of his voice, there was no

malice, no nothing, cemented by the

offertory faux friendship wearing the

face of rivalry, very much unrequited.

 

Friends?

 

He had no idea when the one-sided rivalry had turned into something

more, something almost passable as friendship. Perhaps it had been

when the boy with calming oceans for eyes had instinctively acted as

a human shield for the vulnerable, when his natural collected-ness

seeped out acting as an impulse control, when those soft eyes turned

into doe windows of the soul - the sheer transparency reflecting the

Love, Wistfulness and Bravado that were just a fraction of the complex

man hiding his insecurities with his every laugh and silly-nilly ways.

Perhaps it had been the multiple occasions where they had protected

each others’ backs - they did make a good team when they were not

feigning tearing the other down. But he knew, _he knew_ , that it had

been the feebleness and frailty on display for all to see in the aftermath

of the blast, those lanky limbs and skinny body being a poor shell

containing his humanity and heart. It had reminded him that this boy

was playing the dangerous game of Life all in the name of buying time.

Whether this fraction of the continuum was for his family or home planet,

he would never know, except that it culminated in him cradling the boy

in his arms; to his chagrin, of which was ultimately denied by said boy.

 

Prospective Partner?

 

Keith did not know how or when his feelings started falling into a disarray. He was spiralling

down the rabbit hole with a velocity faster than 9.8 m/s, if that was even remotely possible.

Apparently so, however, it was indeed plausible when it came to loving the enigma labelled

 _Lance_. He does not remember how his mess of a conversationalist had plucked up the courage

to broadcast his feelings to the person of his affections, does not remember the locusts that

plagued his stomach - be real, love is not as easy and romantised as it is often pictured to be,

does not remember the jittery and clammy carpals, metacarpals and phalanges he calls his

hands. What he does remember though, was the fleeting floating sensation surging through

his veins when soft full lips slotted against his, his touch-depraved self engulfed by the warmth

named _Lance_. It was a magnificent sight to behold when their ‘rivalry’ morphed into more.

 _Disbelief_ \- Trust. _Exasperation_ \- Tolerance. _Frustration_ \- Patience, Love and Understanding.

It was the emergence of the beautiful butterfly from its chrysalis, a far cry from the plain and

mundane caterpillar. It was the tranquility of a field of poppies coming into bloom, their bright

red petals a contrast to the azure sky, and yet melded in a way that just felt ... natural. They

were the missing jigsaw pieces of a masterpiece and they were good together, a good team.

 

Strangers

 

Reality itself was a double-edged sword. What it giveth, it taketh away.

With love came hate, with life came death. They were never mutually

exclusive: they were two sides of the same coin. He did not, could not,

would not hate the boy with oceans for eyes that gave him light; but

he did, could and would hate death for all it was worth. After all, no

good thing lasts forever - the butterfly eventually returns back to the

dust, the poppies ultimately withering and rendering its field barren,

red no longer intertwined with blue to give purple, it was all just

Red

Red

Red

The boy who lost his sunshine had never hated red so much; only he

knew the reason why - whether it was the colour reminding him of

his solitude and loneliness, or whether it was the colour that smeared

his hands as he cradled the broken Blue in his arms. There was not

much difference between the First and the Last, the only change being

the lack of denial. He does not acknowledge the lack of ability to deny.

 

Nothingness

 

He did not know whether he could

love again. But he did know that

given a second chance, he would

take the steps, the descent, the fall.

For all his smarts and logic, he should

have never taken the first step down,

for this descent to separation was

akin to living hell with no foothold

to anchor his self. And yet, with all the

 

                                                                                                                                                    Denial

 

                                        Hurt

 

             

                                                                                                           

 

                                                                                                           Pain

  


The boy with ebony eyes that shone

violet in light could not deny that the

boy with eyes he could not describe as

Cerulean

Sapphire

Ultramarine

but rather all 63 varieties of blue

had been everything but ephemeral,

anything, but a ripple that had faded.

  


// _And truth be told, I never was yours_

_The fear, the fear of falling apart//_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: omy I cried writing this but it wasn't even that sad,,,  
> Anyways, just wanted to try out my first form poetry on these 2 precious boys after seeing the S3 trailer promising of angst and the split rendition of P!ATD's This Is Gospel on tumblr.  
> The poem is supposed to take the form of a flight of stairs and hey, I tried (as pretentious as this is hahaha)  
> Name taken from P!ATD's TWTLTRTD This Is Gospel (´･ω･`)


End file.
